


Travelling Ghosts and the Roads That Follow

by missolved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - World War II, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Military Homophobia, Military Violence, Not A Happy Ending, Soldier Dean, it kind of is but it's not the one you're looking for, mentions of Sam Winchester - Freeform, soldier Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 13:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missolved/pseuds/missolved
Summary: Sergeant Winchester glanced to his side and saw through the shadows that flitted across Lieutenant Novak's stoic eyes; there was no hiding the expression of the cracked, empty soldier that breathed.Dean didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to.Their silence was enough to fill the world, that night.





	Travelling Ghosts and the Roads That Follow

A dozen crows shrieked in unison, crying out a mournful song of remorse into the ash-colored sky. Soldiers that once marched with pride and loyalty now hustled along the damaged cobblestone sidewalks with a frantic sense of desperation.

Hidden under the pelleted shelter of a tin sheet, hoisted above a plateau near the ocean, was a small group of three bone-weary soldiers that’d experienced a lifetime’s worth of loss and defeat.

Dean slouched against a detached, rustique door that acted as a shield behind him. It’d been the only remaining piece of cover that was even remotely intact.

Sweat-soaked, blood-splattered strands of dark brown hair fell across his forehead, but he didn’t bother pushing it away. He inhaled, sputtering out obscenities as dust and ash drove their way into his nostrils. He coughed heavily, one hand pressed against his chest in an attempt to keep from spasming.

Castiel was attending to Gabriel, a rookie who’d been severely wounded on the way to one of their locations. Gabriel was flat on his back and had a trembling hand pressed against his chest, clasping the scarlet blood that was soaking through his uniform.

It pooled around him like a spread of wings.

Castiel’s family adopted Gabriel when he was sixteen, and the pair had been inseparable ever since. Like the older brother he’d grown to be, Castiel was always willing to risk his life for his younger counterpart. He’d laugh it off afterward, clapping Gabriel on the back after yet again surviving another attack.

Today told a different story. Today, Castiel wasn’t fast enough.

Dean silently regarded the stiff way Castiel tended to his brother’s gunshot wound. His eyes blazed with determination, jaw clenched. His black hair was matted, and his steady hands were grasping at the leftover stitches in their kit. He was only a few inches shorter than Dean himself, but his firm stature made up for what he didn’t have in height.

Castiel was a man whose morals were solidly built upon resolve and loyalty. Castiel was, Dean thought, as much a guardian angel as he was a soldier.

He glanced up then, meeting the sergeant’s eyes with his electric blue.

Castiel approached him; shoulders bunched up into tight knots. His mouth drew into a thin line, and the ever-present shadows under his eyes were greatly punctuated.

“Shall we move, sir?”

A beat.

Dean asked, “The rookie asleep?”

“Yes, sir.” The tremble in Castiel’s voice did not go unnoticed.

“We’ll stay. He needs his rest, and quite frankly, lieutenant, so do you.” He took note of the ease that trickled through Castiel’s posture and thought of how nice it’d be if he could see it again.

Then Castiel turned around, leaving the sergeant to his side of the clearing.

Dean leaned his head back, shoulders sagging. By God, he missed his Sammy; it’d been ages since he last sent a letter to his younger brother and the chances that he’d survive long enough before they found any means of escape from this hellhole was highly unlikely.

He huffed out a laugh. Hell, he even missed his ex-wife, and he hadn’t thought about her in over two years.

He first met Lisa on a hunting trip. He was in his early twenties at the time, just finishing military school, when his father and brother invited him out to the woods for another one of their ritual camping trips. Apparently, Lisa’s family had the same idea in mind; and as Dean eventually came to figure out, it was his father who devised their so-called spontaneous arrangement.

Dean always had the sneaking suspicion that their marriage was simply another one of his father’s attempts at drowning away his son’s queerness.

But he’d always tried his best with Lisa; she’d always been a sweetheart, and he didn’t think she knew, which he thanked God for.

Still, things were never bound to work themselves out.

When he enlisted in the army, he thought he’d just be cooped up in some radio station with the rest of the comms. To his surprise, it’d been less than a month, and he was already thrown into the frontlines with a .45 submachine gun and a helmet that reeked of mildew.

He idly brushed his thumb against his palm.

_Whump._

Dean shot up to his feet in a matter of seconds, quickly motioning for Castiel to do the same. The sergeant licked his lips and snaked his hand down to the colt that he kept strapped around his waist.

It was almost dead silent; the only sound to be heard for miles away was the low whirring of faraway, overhead planes.

He crept forward and peered around the wooden door.

Dean surveyed the open space, clutching his gun; empty gun shells laid waste on the cracked pavement–

A flash of orange and brown darted across the sidewalk and Dean instantly raised his gun to shoot.

Then it slowed, and he lowered his weapon when the entity seemed to procure a bushy tail and a set of fuzzy, ginger ears. The tabby turned its head, tufts of hair shaking free from its golden undercoat.

“I’ll be damned.” Dean signaled for Castiel to come forward, one hand still resting on his gun.

Castiel planted his feet beside him, eyes illuminating against the growingly-dark sky. He crouched, extending a hand towards the small creature.

The cat quirked its head, whiskers twitching as it sniffed and licked at his fingers.

Dean grumbled out, “The hell’s it doing here?”

Castiel settled on the floor, combing his hand through the tabby’s fur. “Scrounging for food or seeking shelter. Simply surviving as we do.”

“And it,” Castiel raised the cat up high, inspecting it from below, “is a male specimen.”

Dean scoffed. “I’m sure there are other ways of determining what gender he is, lieutenant.”

Castiel tilted his head, amused. Now that Dean thought about it, the lieutenant quite resembled the animal in his hands.

With one hand grazing the back of the cat’s neck, Castiel asked, “What shall we do with it, sir?”

The cat glanced up at the sergeant, seemingly harboring the same question.

“I believe that the only option for us, Lieutenant Novak,” Dean looked down at the yawning creature in Castiel’s arms, “is to keep it.”

 

* * *

 

Apparently, as Sergeant Winchester later discovered, the tabby was  _not_ a very cooperative creature.

After settling back down beside Gabriel, who, thankfully, seemed to be asleep, the cat had leapt out of Castiel’s lap and darted into Dean’s arms to nearly scratch his head off.

“Haddock, you sonuvabitch!”

The cat backed away from him, shrinking.

Castiel raised an eyebrow, “Haddock?”

Dean gingerly pressed a hand against the scratch on his neck, curiously squinting at the lieutenant seated across him. “Ever heard of Tintin? Y’know, Captain Haddock and the works?”

Deliberating, Castiel’s forehead creased as though he was mentally forming a set of military tactics. “No, sir,” he said, “I can’t say that I have.”

The sergeant rolled his eyes. “You’re missing out, lieutenant. It’s the greatest breakthrough of our generation.”

Haddock slowly padded back to where Castiel was seated, and Dean eyed the cat warily. “And what did I do? I disgraced the name of my favorite character by using it on this ungrateful bastard.”

“Well, sir, with all due respect,” Castiel’s lips slyly turned upwards, “he does seem to like me better.”

Haddock only purred against the lieutenant’s neck in confirmation.

Dean hummed. “You even seen yourself?”

Surprise. “Sergeant—”

Then Haddock clawed at Castiel's arms, causing the lieutenant to flinch. Castiel frowned and tried to appease him with a comb through his neck. At the touch, Haddock bared his teeth and backed away from him, growling low and fierce.

“He’s probably just hungry.” Dean rifled through the contents of his backpack, grabbing for the can of tuna that he salvaged from the road and a half-filled water bottle. “Back home, I adopted a Calico for my ex-wife. Had it for over five years.” He tossed a ration at Castiel, and took one for himself before dumping the can’s contents onto the dirt and pouring a pint of water into the now-empty container.

Castiel looked up, contemplating. “You never struck me as a cat person, sir.”

Dean set the portions at his feet, drawing Haddock before him. “Then what kind of person do you strike me as, lieutenant?”

Castiel stared intently at him; Dean felt it scorch right through.

“A righteous one.”

 

* * *

 

Two ginger paws settled against Sergeant Winchester’s thighs, pulling Haddock along with them as his hind legs scurried across the dirt. The sun had set a while ago, having left behind the inky canvas of an oil-black night and no stars left to guide their sparse team home. The moon was a pale smudge in the sky, and it looked down at the soldiers with its lonely eyes.

Dean spent a few moments looking up at the sky in search of any other pinprick of light. Anything at all.

Castiel shuffled to Gabriel’s side after he’d stirred with a dry cough, coated in spurts of blood and hadn’t budged since. The lieutenant’s eyes were shut, but Dean knew better.

So the sergeant stayed awake, keeping a watchful eye out for anything that moved. Whether they were in danger of wild dogs or armed soldiers, he couldn’t say.

Haddock nuzzled into the hollow of Dean’s neck, and the sergeant silently batted him away. Dean shook his head and raised his finger to shush him, but he found the beginnings of a smile etched across his face.

“You’re gonna be the death of us, Captain.” Haddock tilted his head.

Dean stared back at the tabby, and let his thoughts drift away. They’d been trained to know, of course, that the probability of coming home was slimmer than the probability of surviving a week on the battlefront. He was ready for that outcome, and always would be. But he’d never been exposed to the nearness of it for this long of a stretch.

Haddock licked the sergeant’s hand.

Frankly, it was a solace, to be so close to death. It waited in silent companion, always ready to lift him by its tenacious wings. Death marched on, through the thick fog, leading its soldiers to victory; to the arms of the fallen, of their loved ones and of their children, of family.

Death would take him home.

Suddenly, Gabriel jolted awake in violent shakes, hacking and wheezing across the clearing as a storm of torment blew through him and out in the form of thick blood and mucus. Castiel was up in a second, swarming Gabriel with his kit and words of comfort. Given any other day, Dean would’ve teased the lieutenant of his likeness to a mother hen flocking her chicks; but nothing about the situation was remotely funny.

Gabriel muttered a few words then; something too low for Dean to catch.

He could only speculate on what had been said when Castiel went slack. His shoulders, always held so high and tall, were caved deeper than a bow.

Dean felt his stomach drop.

A faint, ambivalent smile graced the rookie’s features before he slumped over, the tension seeping out of his body like a spilled drink.

Gabriel, whose eyes never failed to shine with mirth, was dead.

Dean got up and approached his lieutenant with Haddock softly padding beside him. He kneeled by Gabriel’s pale arm, immediately struck by how empty his features were. His mouth hung open, jaw slack, and his green eyes looked grey under the lack of starlight.

The air shifted. Dean reached over and gently pulled his eyelids closed.

Haddock lightly nudged Castiel’s arm before moving to crouch beside Gabriel’s head. The tabby’s eyes glistened in the darkness, a whiff of understanding. A soft breeze blew past, and Dean felt something rattle between his ribs; felt himself begin to rip at the seams.

He glanced to his side and saw through the shadows that flitted across the lieutenant’s stoic eyes; there was no hiding the expression of the cracked, empty soldier that breathed.

Dean didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to.

Their silence was enough to fill the world, that night.

 

* * *

 

The sound of heavy footfalls and shuffling stirred Dean awake. He grumbled, blinking away the blurry edges that sleep had left him with.

The lieutenant’s silhouetted figure was crouched over Gabriel, a phantom that threatened to blow away with the wind.

“What are you doing?” Dean grunted.

Castiel turned to him, blue eyes grave and steady, with a look that Dean couldn’t quite decipher.

The lieutenant quietly rasped, “Taking him to the ocean.”

Dean grimaced. Grief drew out the misguided ghosts in people, and so it did in Castiel.

“Don’t be ridiculous, lieutenant.” Haddock’s whiskers twitched, head atop his lap. “We’re coming with you.”

They didn’t pack much; didn’t have to, considering that most of the weight came from Gabriel’s pack. A firearm strapped to each of their holsters and a canister of water were all they lugged along. They picked Gabriel up, Castiel grabbing his upper half while Dean took him by the feet, and moved in the direction of the ocean.

Dean had the feeling that they weren’t coming back.

Haddock, whose footfalls were near silent, treaded carefully behind him. They reached a particularly slippery slope and the sergeant watched as Haddock gracefully hopped across the ridges, eyeing the duo as they struggled to make it down unscathed. Dean looked at the tabby, really looked at him, and there was a familiarity to his eyes; one he hadn’t found in years.

It drove him on.

Suddenly, three shots were fired into the air in quick succession.

Castiel’s eyes quickly found his, slowly answering his silent question. They lowered Gabriel’s body to the ground and moved towards each other, meeting with their backs.

Before Dean could think better of it, he whirled around, grabbed for Castiel’s shoulder, and pulled them low. Haddock curled himself around Castiel’s right leg, apparently sensing the nearby danger as well.

They tensed, breaths barely coming out in short puffs of air.

Then he felt it.

White-hot pain streaked through Dean’s abdomen as he dropped to the ground. His hands immediately darted to his side, applying pressure as best he could. He winced at the sight of the gaping exit wound. He’d suffered hails of bullets before, but even he knew that he was running out of rope.

Dean gritted his teeth, pain flaring through him. More silver bullets sliced through the thick air, knifing the darkness in hopes of striking down a target.

The sergeant was barely aware of Castiel, whose arms were hooked around his armpits and dragging him along the sand like he weighed nothing.

His vision swam. He thought he felt Haddock’s fur under his fingertips.

Then, his eyes drew shut and there was darkness.

When Dean came to, he was on his back and facing the fissures of a shadowed cavern. Fingers pushed around the entry of his wound and he jolted upwards. Darkness skirted his eyes and he inhaled sharply.

Castiel had a warm hand pressed against his gut. His shirt was off, leaving him exposed to the coarse sand that coated his back. Castiel’s eyes; bleary, a heavy shade of red. It felt too personal to mention.

“At least take me out before undressing me, lieutenant.”

Haddock meowed, but even the cat sounded strangled.

Castiel stared at him, grief clouding his expression. There was an additional frailness there, in place of his stoicism, something Dean wasn’t used to seeing.

Even with the wound pressed, he felt the blood trickle out of him fast enough that the numbness overtook his lower half. At this rate, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the hour. A sharp pain rang through his heart. He needed more time.

He needed Castiel.

"Cas." The lieutenant looked into his eyes, searching.

“If we had more time, I would—”

Castiel interrupted, “Neither of us would, Dean.”

Dean pressed his lips together and pushed past the dull ache that flooded through his abdomen. “But I know. Me, too.”

The corners of Dean’s mouth quirked upward. “Christ, Cas, you sure know how to give a dying man his moments.”

Castiel’s expression pierced his chest.

“Promise you’ll take care of Haddock,” Dean tilted his head towards the lieutenant, “and yourself. Always yourself.”

Haddock padded towards him, nuzzling his shoulder in sync to his own shallow breaths.

“Of course,” Castiel said, his voice hoarse.

Dean resisted the urge to flutter his eyes closed, even as the temptation to sleep grew heavier. He tracked Castiel’s face– memorized it. “You shouldn’t have to be everyone’s guardian angel.”

He felt the stars in him begin to fade; bursting and fizzling to ash. The sergeant clasped Castiel’s hand. It was trembling, bloody, and warm. It was enough.

Dean was mistaken, before.

His breath rasped, eyes drifting closed. Even as the darkness seeped through his body, Castiel’s warmth tightly clung onto him.

This, Dean exhaled, was home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, my loves.


End file.
